


Doll House

by AliceMowse



Series: Writing Chat Prompts [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Dolls, M/M, The Writer Chat Prompt, serial killer au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 07:44:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2460413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceMowse/pseuds/AliceMowse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirschstein is the owner and creator of "Jean's Dolls" and enjoys filling his days with crafting pint sized beauties mostly just for himself to enjoy. Every once in a while he'll take a custom order, and every once in a while that order will be just for him and his collection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doll House

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for taking the time to read! This was a small one shot done for the weekly Writer Chats group on tumblr. And my very first piece of AO3 fan fiction with hopefully more to come at a later date
> 
> Tracking tag is: the writer chats   
> Please feel free to join us! 
> 
> My name on Tumblr is Racy-Riren, please feel free to follow me ^^

Sitting on a quaint corner of Trost District lies a small corner shop. It stands as a beacon amongst all of the destroyed or run down homes on the street, bringing living color to an otherwise deceased area of town.   
In the evening breeze the old rickety sign sways and it's rusted chain screams out in welcome, beckoning anyone walking along the darkness to come in and seek refuge in the light.   
'Jean's Dolls' can just barely be read of whats left of the script on the old warped windows and anyone who stops to peek in gets a set of cold dead eyes staring right back at them.   
Few venture into the establishment. Those that do are the ones who's curiosity gets the better of them or are simply looking for a way to escape the outside dreary area while they wait for a ride out of town. 

Jean's honey colored eyes looked up from the smooth lump of sculpting material in his hands when the bell over the door let out a rare chime, alerting to a visitor.   
He wiped sweaty palms on an already dusty apron and removed the mask from over his mouth as he eyed the man who just waltzed into his shop. 

“Wow, they're all so beautiful.”   
The words that were breathed out of a pair of stunningly sculpted lips set Jean's insides fluttering. Big brown doe eyes peeked out from under impossibly long lashes as the man turned and flashed a perfect smile that managed to light up the splash of freckles across his nose and cheeks. 

“Are you the artist?”   
It was a common question spoken usually when people were uncomfortable with the insane amount of silence that filled the eerie shop. But coming from this man, it sounded genuine. He was interested. And that meant that Jean was interested in him. Even more so as his eyes devoured every inch of the well structured jaw, strong neck line, and broad shoulders. He found himself wondering if the same freckles that splattered across his face dotted star lines across the expanse of shoulders. 

“I am.”   
Jean wiped his hands again on his apron as he leaned into the counter, having to clear his throat to make the simple statement sound human again. He rarely spoke to anyone. Especially when he was busy sculpting.   
The man's eyes lit up like a child's at christmas, his impossibly long legs carrying him across the room in only a few simple strides. 

“That's great! My name is Marco Bodt. I'm the one that called for a show room appointment.”  
Jean's brows shot up as he tried to recall the phone conversation from a week ago. He remembered the voice more than he remembered the actual content of what had been discussed. Low and thrumming. He had been stuck hanging on every syllable wondering how best he could convey a sound so pleasant out of his dolls' features. Drinking in the sight of Marco, now he knew exactly how to go about it.

“You want the custom done.”  
It wasn't a question. They had talked briefly over the phone about Marco modeling for the sculpting process so that he could have a miniature version of himself perfected as a gift for someone. Who had it been? A mother? Grandmother? Maybe he had a sister.   
As Jean eyed Marco and how excited he became at the mention of it, he decided it didn't matter who the doll was for. They would never get it.   
Jean was going to bottle up all of that beauty and perfection and keep it for himself. He just had to find a way to take what was in front of him and execute it perfectly. 

“Yes! Man, I've been so nervous over this. So, how exactly does it work?”   
Marco had the nervous habit of scratching the back of his neck and laughing through his discomfort.   
Jean flashed him a smile to try to set him at ease and then gestured to the door towards the back. 

“Follow me. We can get started right away. It'll take a few sessions between the photography, sketching, and the mold process.” 

A few sessions of watching Marco stand in the cold corner of the studio in various positions and Jean had found himself obsessed. He had been right, the beautiful boy was riddled from head to toe in those delicious freckles, his body made of the same hard lines as his jaw and neck. Perfection was standing in Jean's studio and he was having a hard time capturing it in his drawings and sculpting.   
No line he drew could compare to the stunning jut of Marco's hips. No matter how many times his fingers brushed over the soft material to form the expanse of pectoral muscles, they fell flat compared to the real thing.   
Over and over again Jean tried. He sketched. He molded. He casted. When the resin didn't feel like the soft flesh of Marco's skin, he'd find himself enraged. Infuriated. Pushed to the point of smashing Marco's likeness again and again until all that would surround him would be lolling pairs of dead coffee colored eyes. And feeling judged by their glassy stares, he would destroy them too.  
Nothing would match his perfection. Nothing in Jean's skill could bring the nervous laughter to life in his hands. It didn't matter how often or how hard he sunk his finger nails into the soft material he was trying to work into a shoulder blade, it wasn't the same as sinking them into Marco's. There was no hard muscle pushing back. No soft gasp of breath from the surprise of the lick of pain. No redness rising and lighting up the freckles on the face like twinkling night stars. No matter how hard Jean worked, it just wouldn't be the same. It wasn't perfection. It wasn't beautiful.   
Looking around at the broken pieces, decimated sketches, and ripped apart photographs, Jean knew what he had to do. 

“Wow, I can't believe it's done already. You work really fast.”   
Marco flashed him that stunning smile and Jean felt his stomach curl. He wasn't sure if it was out of joy from seeing it or bitterness that he couldn't find a way to master it. But that would all be ending today.

“It's my job. I just hope you like it.”   
Jean took a seat as he pushed a steaming mug of coffee in front of his guest. 

“So, this is the last time I get to see you then?”   
The question came out sad as Marco looked down into the hot liquid in front of him and Jean felt his heart squeeze. He wanted the smile. Not that sadness. Sadness wouldn't work. 

“It's not the last time. You just won't be standing naked in a studio.”   
There it was. The life returning to those beautiful eyes. 

“You mean I can see you again?” 

“Hey, Marco... Do you like it here?” 

The question had caught him off guard as he took a slow sip from the mug.  
“Yeah, of course I do. I really like you, Jean.”   
The smile that spread across Jean's face was almost painful. His heart fluttered at the sound of Marco's words and he could hear the blood pumping in his ears as he stood from his seat.   
Marco's eyes met his and that faint rush of life had spread across his freckles again. That beautiful splash of red that had begun to make Jean's toes curl.   
He never wanted it to end. And as he leaned in closer to Marco, their lips inches apart, he was sure that it never would. 

“I love you, Marco.”   
Right as the words fell from Jean's lips, Marco's eyes widened just a fraction more and right then Jean knew this was the moment. This smile. This life. Those sparkling orbs so filled with absolute pleasure. This was what he wanted to capture. 

The syringe entered the soft pliable flesh of his neck as easily as a sculpting scalpel. Jean held fast to Marco's jaw, his fingers digging into the skin but careful not to make bruises as he listened intently to the flush of breath coming from the boy's nose. The panic would subside in a moment and then Jean had just under a few seconds to rearrange the mouth into that smile he loved so much. It would be easy as soon as Marco stopped flailing.   
His fingers cut into Jeans neck and shoulders. His entire form had gone rigid from fright. And Jean counted as his heart went from pounding quickly, to slowing, slowing, before sputtering out all together.   
He pressed his ear to his chest and held him tight in his arms, soaking up the left over warmth before the blood cooled in his veins, taking only a moment to rearrange his face. 

Jean took a step back and looked at his handy work. The perfection of the man he loved personified forever in this chair. He'd have him always. The only regret being that the vibrant light had been erased from his eyes, leaving behind the same dead glassy look as all of the others. Jean hated that look. But for now while the eyes were still held together in the skull, he would live with it. It would give him time to find replacements.   
Marco was his favorite doll. Immortally beautiful for as long as Jean would live. An obsession he could feel pulsing and sparking off exhilarated life in his veins.   
How many more could he make? Marco would get lonely eventually, what with Jean sculpting the smaller dolls all the time.   
He made it his goal to find him a friend. A companion. Someone who's features would work well with Marco's when they were posed together. 

The bell on the door to the show room alerted to a new visitor. 

“Hello? Jean? It's Armin. We spoke on the phone the other day...” 

Jean's heart skipped a beat as he entered the show room and laid eyes on the most angelic beauty he had ever seen.


End file.
